The abbess recovered, but there was white in her iron-gray hair, and she moved more cautiously than she had done. She needed a cane to go up stairs and it clearly infuriated her. The abbess had never been patient with her own weakness.
Marra herself recovered well, though there were days when she only dozed at the window and could not will herself to move. Even the view from the window reminded her of plague. They lost two novices, and the old man who sold goat milk was replaced by his son, who told them quietly that his father would not be coming back.
She was gazing out the window, not quite awake, thinking long unraveling thoughts, when there was a tap on the door and the Sister Apothecary was waiting.
“It’s bad news,” she said, holding out a letter. “The abbess asked me to bring it to you. She would have done it but she can’t handle the stairs. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not good.”
Marra broke the seal. If the Sister said something else, she didn’t hear. Her heart was pounding too hard in her ears. If the abbess had been informed of the contents, then it must be bad; it must be …
I regret to inform you that the fever took your niece, Virian. The funeral will be held as soon as the family can travel to the Northern Kingdom. If you are well enough to travel, a carriage will be sent to fetch you.
“Oh,” said Marra. She was horrified to find that the sensation she felt was relief. It was not her mother, not her sister, not her father. Her heart ached for Kania’s grief, but part of her said, It is only a child you saw for a few minutes at her christening and never again, and she hated herself for feeling that way, but the loss was at a remove and her love was an abstract love, not one born of close familiarity.
“My niece,” she said, realizing that the Sister was waiting for an answer. “My niece has died of the fever. There’s a funeral. I have to go. I … someone should be told … I don’t know what I do next, but they’re supposed to come and fetch me…”
Someone did. Two days later, she was in a carriage traveling north. The horses were black, the bridles were black, the coachman clad in charcoal gray. The Northern Kingdom was showing off its wealth again, and Marra found herself crying, not for her niece but for Damia. Late again, she thought. That was so many years ago. You’re being slow again, only mourning now. Probably you’ll actually get around to crying for your niece in a decade or so. Which was comforting, in a foolish way, because maybe that meant that she was not a complete monster. She had been wondering since her first instinctive relief.
She was met by a footman who led her to Kania’s chambers. It was all so much like the first time that she half expected Kania to be in labor again. But her sister was not. She was standing at a window, with her mother’s arm around her, and the first thing that Marra saw was the roundness of her sister’s belly.
“You’re pregnant again,” she blurted. There had been other letters over the years, announcing pregnancies, but never births. Eventually they had stopped coming, and Marra had thought that perhaps Kania had stopped trying. Perhaps she has only stopped telling people.
Kania and the queen both looked at her. Kania had blue circles under her eyes and her face was swollen, but she was still so clearly her mother’s daughter that it was like being studied by the queen and her reflection. Marra managed a stammering apology, or perhaps it was only a stammer and Kania took pity on her instead. “I am,” she said.
“You … um. Felicitations. I’m sure you must be very…” Oh hell. How can she be happy? She just lost her daughter, the one that was already born. Marra looked around the room wildly, hoping that the right words would come but they didn’t, and eventually the silence stretched out so long that no words could have fixed it.
The queen sighed, but Kania gave a strangled laugh and came across the room to embrace Marra. “I’m glad you’re here, Sister,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” said Marra miserably. “I’m sorry for Virian, for you, or— I’m so sorry. I’m not good at this.”
“It’s all right,” said Kania. “I’m not, either.” She wiped her eyes and stepped back. Marra thought perhaps she wasn’t very far along, but her clothes were cut to show her belly, or perhaps she was one of those women who began to show almost immediately.
“Can I do anything?” asked Marra. “Anything at all?”
“There is nothing to be done,” said Kania. “Sit with me. The funeral’s tomorrow.” Marra nodded and they sat at the window and she tried not to say anything too horribly foolish, with the result that they mostly sat in silence.